Chapter 6
Natalie
Imake my way through my office, hands out like a mummy as I fumble for the Keurig. And once I manage to get my first sip of Irish Cream Dark Roast, the memories of last night start to become a little clearer.
But not less dreamy. Not at all.
The impossibly sexy, tall, dark drink of man-meat from last night has me metaphorically standing on my head. How could I, Miss Magic Wand for an hour with no happy ending, have an orgasm from the flick of a finger and the brush of his lips on my ear?
I don’t know. But the wetness that’s still slippery between my thighs proves that it did. He’s the first to ever have that honor, and I don’t even know his name.
I shake off my flighty thoughts and head into the conference room. Jamie, my co-worker at Two Wrongs Anger Management, and my partner for this consulting gig, is already here, flicking through the PowerPoint, making sure there are no glitches before our training gets started.
I riffle through the forms in front of me to get my bearings before we start. Today it’s an intensive anger management session for a partner of some three-name law firm, a fancy-schmancy divorce lawyer.
God, I hate divorce lawyers.
And it looks like he’s going to need a full-on chill out sesh…or else.
HR Defcon 5 Emergency, basically.
The plan is that Jamie will do the presentation while I observe, then I’ll do the post session eval and either sign him off for HR or give them my recommendations for future counseling or possible likelihood of continued risk to the company.
So, when it comes right down to it, this guy’s career is in the palm of my hand.
Which is wild.
Still, though, this gig pays the bills, and that’s a blessing I remind myself, because I’d rather not be here today.
For one, I want to get on my flight to Massachusetts and see my sister and family. It sucks I couldn’t take more time off this week to be there for her and help her get ready, but I’m treading on thin ice with my job already. I’ve only been with the company six months, so I’ve not earned any time off yet.
But, on top of that, I keep having these fantasies of heading back to Amalfi’s, blowing through the door and there he is. Still waiting for me. I don’t know his name, but he said his sister owned the place, and she is the chef who cock-blocked him, so surely I could somehow figure out who he is and find him.
Then what? I wouldn’t know what to do with all that if it appeared in front of me with a step-by-step instruction manual.
“Nat.” Jamie points toward the screen. “You ready? You have your forms, checklist, evaluation docs…”
“Yeah. Yeah…” I answer, fumbling in my laptop bag and tugging out a folder, spilling the pages all over the table in front of me. “I just have to—”
“Girl,” he says with a flick of his hair and a get-it-together tsk sound. “You are a hot mess. You know that?”
I’m a hot something, that’s for sure. “I know, I’m sorry. I… I lost my wallet again. I’m just a little out of sorts.”
He leans down, offering me a sympathetic grin, and picks up a few pieces of paper that fell to the floor. He hands them to me with a shake of his head.
“Thanks so much. You’re the best.”
Just then, the doorknob clicks, drawing my attention.
Showtime.
Our client today is actually a partner of the firm that hired us, so he’s done something fairly egregious. My undergrad degree in psychology and a minor in business management apparently give me the power to make those sorts of calls. I’ve quickly come to realize, it’s all just a money grab for the company I work for and a rubber stamp. I can’t really know if someone has assimilated any of the program we present. It’s impossible to see into someone’s mind and heart, especially after a single session, but that’s the business world for you.
More interested in the way things look than the way they are.
As the door swings open, I look down, trying not to let my deep abiding hatred for divorce lawyers get the best of me, and the first thing I see…
…are the shoes.
Black. So shiny, the lights in the ceiling ricochet back, making me blink.
Then, the cuffs of his pants.
Such a perfect break in the fabric, just like—
There’s a low sort of growling sound, and as I look up and make eye-contact, my ovaries spasm. I nearly double over, spewing out a hissing exhale as Jamie shoots me a WTF look.
“Sorry. Cramps,” I whisper-hiss as the magic man from last night pins me with his eyes, walking our way, then takes a seat directly in front of me, snapping his tongue against his ridiculously white but somewhat-imperfect but infinitely sexy teeth.
“Good morning,” Jamie manages as I regroup, pulling my jaw off the floor and blindly shuffling papers on the table in front of me.
All I do is stare while Jamie goes through the steps of the program. When he looks to me for my usual chirpy additions to his spiel, all I can do is smile and wonder why I didn’t go with the wool blazer this morning instead of the lavender silk blouse, which is doing nothing to hide the way my nipples are punching through the thin fabric.
Jamie’s voice sounds garbled like he’s talking underwater. “Natalie Filmore is here to evaluate and observe. She will be the one to write up your report for the HR department, giving them her recommendations.”
“That so?” Sexy night-before man’s voice is like a hurricane, whipping through and around me, making me wet and dizzy. “Natalie Filmore.”
“Yes.” Jamie sounds friendly, but professional. “I understand this is a difficult place to be, Mr. Saman. We’re here to help you. Anger in the workplace, as you know, can ruin a career—especially in your position. The state bar association will look favorably on you completing our training and receiving a positive report.”
Tor Saman. Nothing but a name on a form, barely registering inside my brain until now.
And now, it’s all I can think about.
“Prepared by Natalie.” He says my name in a way that feels intimate, and the way he runs his tongue over his bottom lip has me ready to lose consciousness. “I’ll make sure she has only positive things to say. In her…report.”
Oh, God…
The session is a fuzzy, smudgy blur. I keep crossing and re-crossing my legs, squeezing my thighs together, salivating and making these little sparrow-like chirping sounds whenever he looks at me.
Thank God, Jamie covers my short parts of the program while I’m having my psychiatric event. I sit glued to my chair at the conference table, staring at the blank screen on my open laptop and praying that when I wake up from this daydream, I’ll still be employed.
Tor gives a few sharp answers when Jamie asks him questions, but other than that he says nothing. His eyes are on me the entire four hours of our program.
By the end, I’m as exhausted as if I’ve run a marathon. My heart is racing, palms sweaty. I’ve scratched my forehead, taking little looks at him from between my fingers, a thousand times, and my panties?
Toast. Wet, soggy toast.
“Okay, well, Natalie…” Jamie gives me a tight smile and a wave of his hand. “Anything to add? Any questions for Mr. Saman?”
Somehow, I manage to say the right words in the right order in my usual closing statement and questions. Tor gives quick, yes and no answers, interjects where he should, but every word to me sounds sexual, and I’m a throbbing, needy mess by the time I’m done.
Words like aggression and intent never sounded so steamy.
“So, did I pass?” he rumbles, his white shirt tight over his chest as I’m hypnotized by the way his Adam’s apple moves under the dark scruff of his beard. His blood-red tie points directly at his crotch like a flashing sign.
Right here. Look here. One look won’t hurt…
“Miss Fillmore will send the results to your HR department,” Jamie chimes in impatiently when I don’t answer. “We are all set for today.” He taps his phone. “Thank you for coming in.”
“Turned out much better than I expected.” He turns to Jamie. “I need a minute with Miss Filmore, if you don’t mind.”
Jamie shoots me a look, closing his laptop and slipping it into his bag.
When I don’t say anything, his eyes widen in annoyance. “I’m sorry. That would not be appropriate, considering…”
He hesitates as Tor levels a dark look at him, but to his credit he recovers way faster than I would in his position.
“Miss Filmore needs to remain neutral. Isn’t that right, Natalie?”
They’re both staring at me as I nod slowly, blankly.
Jamie flashes his eyes at me, and mouths, Are you having a stroke?
Gah.
Get yourself under control, Natalie. Say something. At this point, anything.
“Company policy,” I mumble, finally finding my tongue.
My fingertips are cold and I need to be away from him so bad my pulse is pounding in my ears.
“Company policy,” Tor repeats, twisting his head back and forth, and I hear his neck crack twice. “Got it, Miss Filmore. Wouldn’t want you to get in trouble.”
“Right,” Jamie interjects. “Again, thank you for coming in. We both need to get to the airport, so…”
He leaves it hanging there as Tor arches an eyebrow.
“Business or pleasure?” He aims his words right at me, and when I don’t answer, he starts to smirk. “Well, I don’t want you to miss your flight.”
He nods to Jamie, then spins and heads out the door, as I lean on the table to keep from falling down.
“Jesus, Jennifer and Joanne.” Jamie turns my way as we walk through the automatic doors at the airport. “That guy was intense. And, girl, what is with you?”
“Yeah,” I manage. “Intense.”
My new urge is to race back outside, hail another cab and beat it back to Hicks, Saman and Blunt, where I’ll throw myself on his desk and beg him to pick up where we left off last night in his sister’s office.
“That’s it? Yeah? You are a mess today.”
I take a deep breath, press a smile to my lips and shrug. “Just an off day.”
“Fine, well…you better hope Mr. Smolderson there doesn’t give you a bad review. Paula is this close to canning you.” He squeezes his thumb and index fingers together as a voice comes over the com system, calling for boarding on his flight home. “Shit, I gotta go. You okay?”
I wave him off. “Yes, go. I’m in the other terminal, got to get to my sister’s wedding in Massachusetts.”
Two hours and one flight delay and terminal change later, I’m racing to the security line because I didn’t hear the announcement an hour ago about the gate change for my flight, probably because I was busy daydreaming about those tattooed hands and that masturbation-inspiring voice of Mr. Tor Saman.
I drag my roller bag behind me. One wheel is loose, so the handle wobbles and shakes against my palm. I remain an even hotter mess than I was during the training session, because he’s turned my insides to goo and my brain to lusty mush. But I’m determined to shake this off.
A few days away will do me good.
Thank God I always keep my passport up to date, because I never did find my wallet, so getting through security with my driver’s license was out.
I spent three hours last night online and on the phone, canceling credit cards and checking my bank balances, which, well, there’s not much there to take to be honest.
I shake my head.
Get it together.
One kiss and a little groping, and you’re having visions of white dresses and unprotected honeymoon sex. Keep walking, in a few minutes he’ll be nothing more than inspiration for the next time I’m in the shower with my handheld.
The security line for Terminal C is just ahead, and I force my feet to take the last steps in that direction, stepping in line behind two young guys with backpacks and the vague scent of weed swirling around them.
I slap down my passport for the TSA agent. A few more feet and I’m out of here. Out of his life. Out of—
“Excuse me, Miss. I need you to step out of the line please.”
“Sorry?” I blink at him through the plexiglass barrier.
The TSA agent frowns, and I notice that he’s not alone. There’s a woman standing behind him and a little to his left, looking me up and down. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist,” he says, and my heart starts to flap around in my chest.
“What’s this about?”
“Natalie Filmore?” The woman says, then shrugs when the man shoots her a dark look. “Matches the description. Passport confirms it. Ma’am, you should come with us. Try to stay calm.”
“What?” I ask incredulously. Stay calm?
Whenever anyone tells you to stay calm, that’s the last thing you should do.
The TSA lady in her ill-fitting blue uniform takes me by the bicep with a grip like an iron vice and half drags me round a corner into a private area.
“What the heck is—” Just beyond the fabric-covered cubicle wall is…
Tor.
What the toffee fudgeis he doing here? And he’s grinning? Grinning?
I was right. He’s a serial killer or something. He’s called in an anonymous tip just to stop me boarding my flight.
I’m going to kill him.
“Excuse me.” Tor’s voice echoes against the cinder block wall behind him as he comes through the doorway. “I’m Mr. Saman.”
Both agents give him a knowing look, and I’m more confused than ever.
“I do hope she didn’t give you any trouble. Sometimes the ones that are non compos mentis can be a real handful.”
The male agent nods patiently. “We did wonder why she felt she needed a passport to fly to Massachusetts.”
“I lost my—” I start, trying to explain that it was my only form of ID, but nobody is looking at me. Or listening to me.
Tor nods patiently to the security personnel, and then lowers his voice. “There’s just no reasoning with her. Trust me.”
Wait just a stinking minute.
“Hey, everyone!” I snap my fingers, then double point at my face. “I’m right here, I can hear you, and I have no idea what’s going on. I have my ticket here on my phone, my passport…”
They all ignore me like I’m not even there.
Infuriating.
Tor pulls a folded stack of papers out from the inside pocket in his stupid sexy gray suit. “Here are the conservatorship papers.”
The what?
He hands the papers to the agents, who nod at each other, then look at the top sheet.
“Just glad we got to her before it was too late.”
“Too late? Am I expiring?” I throw up my hands. “This is crazy.”
They all look at each other and I see Tor battling back a smile.
Again, zero response. Not even a glance in my direction.
“I’ll take it from here,” Tor says, and they step back.
He reaches for my arm to lead me away, but I snatch it back and wave my finger at him. “Oh, no you don’t, Mr. Suspect. I’m getting on that plane.”
“No, ma’am, you are not,” says TSA Lady. “And if you insist…” She takes a deep breath, hands on her narrow hips, “you’ll be arrested. So I suggest you leave with your guardian now.”
Arrested?
“Come along, Natalie. Be a good girl.” Tor drapes his arm around my shoulders, leading me out of the room, tossing a wink at the TSA lady as he drags my broken roller bag along with us.
I look up at him, with my teeth set. “My guardian?”
He snickers, all cocky and sexy and…
I yank my eyes away from his face and find myself looking down at his pants.
Again.
And I wonder if the agents got an eyeful of the heat he’s packing, because he’s the one that should be arrested for walking into an airport with a loaded weapon.